


Come in with the Rain

by Unitedcows184



Series: Sherlock Holmes and The Adventure of the Furtive Festivity Donor Fics [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: But not how you think, Chelsea football, Dancing in the Rain, John Watson already knows, Lestrade is going to get fired, M/M, Mary is a liar, Rain, Romance, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Is a Virgin, Silly, Stakeout, and he's tired of it, dumpster diving, sherlock's big ass coat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 01:38:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12570824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unitedcows184/pseuds/Unitedcows184
Summary: Sherlock has had enough. John can't get enough. And Lestrade is just trying to keep his job.This fic was gifted to a donor of my short film, Sherlock Holmes and the Adventure of the Furtive Festivity. Those who contribute $10 or more can commission a Sherlock fic with the prompt of their choosing. Thank you to Lynn for the prompt.Check out our indiegogo page at the link below!https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/sherlock-the-adventure-of-the-furtive-festivity#/





	Come in with the Rain

A stakeout in Brixton. Not exactly necessary in the investigative sense, but I had a feeling that if I played my cards right, the outing could be quite beneficial to as before neglected areas of my life. Lestrade insisted on tagging along, but no matter. John rarely diverts his attention from me as it is, save for that music television special about spring break in America featuring women in soaked t-shirts. Which reminds me, any minute now it should…

“Sherlock!” Lestrade looked up at the darkening sky. “Any reason we can’t be looking out for Mahoney from the car? It looks like rain.”

Nimbostratus clouds, increased wind speed, the booming rumble of thunder. No wonder the man was promoted to DI. Now’s not the time to mock, though. This is just to be a flash storm, after all. No, it’s time to seduce.

“I think you’re right, Stanley. And look at me, standing about in just my tailored white shirt. Whatever will I do?” Ah, the first drops have fallen. Time to set the plan in motion. “And I have only the circumstantial evidence for you to convict Mahoney. We need to catch him in the act.” I gesture to the window just visible at the top corner of the alley.

“Well, I’m going to the car to get my coat. And Sherlock, Stanley isn’t even close to Greg.” John skipped around the corner of the alley. I just love the way he runs like he’s trying to catch up to a man who dropped his wallet. My little soldier.

“Sherlock, what’s going on?” Lestrade tries to open an umbrella and pokes himself in the eye with the spokes. “Bloody hell.  Seriously, what are we doing here. Last week at the crime scene I’m sure you proved against Mahoney’s innocence beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

“Lestrade, aren’t you always encouraging me to be more in depth in my explanations? I’m merely trying to deliver.” The rain is really starting to pick up. Perfect.

“Look, did you just need to get out of the house? Are you and John… doing okay? Have things been different since he moved back in?”

And there’s the rub. Things _had_ been fine since John’s return. More than fine, in fact. That our friendship managed to persevere through all these years of lies, betrayal, and near death experiences was nothing short of a miracle. I consider myself the luckiest man in the world to call John Watson my closest friend. But goddammit, I’m a thirty-five year old virgin and sometimes push needs to come to shove!

Oh, and here returns my doctor, my captain, my heart looking rather small in my beloved Belstaff. (Intentionally forgot to pack John’s coat to help bolster my plan. Hopefully the combination of my unadulterated scent and the erotic display I’m about to initiate will leave John helpless against my sexual prowess.) Another crack of thunder. How poetic.

“Things are fine, Lestrade. About to be better. Don’t ruin this for me.”

John stands at my side. I quite like the look of him ensconced in my coat.

“Sherlock, mind if I borrow this? I can’t afford to get sick and miss my shift tomorrow.”

I feel rain drops drip down my back into my trousers. Though I am incredibly uncomfortable, I am embodying the perfect image of masculine lust. It’s perfect.

“Why, John, I don’t mind at all.”

***

It’s silly, really. I knew I could have had Sherlock Holmes in my bed weeks ago. Ever since I left Mary after her fake pregnancy belly was exposed during a vigorous rendition of the YMCA at the Chelsea match, I have had every intention of showing Sherlock how much I had missed him since the fall. But this man really put me through the ringer when he took an extended gap year from our partnership, and I intend to make him squirm just a little bit more before giving in. And by the looks of Sherlock’s skin tight, soaking wet shirt that was currently straining against his chest, it seems I was in for quite a show.

“I think he’s climbed to the second floor. I’m going to need to get to higher ground if I want to keep an eye on him.”

Sherlock walked confidently up to a dumpster up ahead in the alley and slipped on the slick surface as he hoisted himself up. Once he got his footing, he stretched his arms above his head and ran his fingers through his hair.

“This feels rather nice, actually. Even though Stanley over here gave us a case with minimal complexity, I must admit it feels good to feel the brunt of nature’s expression.” Sherlock looked back at me over his shoulder, raindrops clinging to his eyelashes. He winked at me with no attempt at subtly.

“Go on, posh boy. Let’s see what you can do.”

***

What in the bloody, buggering, hell is going on here. I do Sherlock the favor of reopening a case and what do I get in return? A front seat show to the most awkward strip tease I’ve ever been unfortunate enough witness. And I’ve been to Bangers and Mash on a Tuesday afternoon.

I am sick of these two overgrown children using my crime scenes as an excuse to parade around and push each other’s buttons. I don’t know what they’re waiting for. They’re two financially independent men choosing over and over again to be roommates. It’s not like anyone would be surprised. Meanwhile, I’m over here trying save my job after falling asleep at a press conference last week— _again._

A figure walks past in Mahoney’s window.

“Sherlock! I think he’s back downstairs!”

The madman hits the deck and lowers himself to his stomach, gracelessly undulated on the lid of the dumpster like a fish.

“I think I see him. Do you see that, John? It could be just the thing we need to crack this case wide open.”

And John Watson, conqueror of women on no less than three continents, licks his lips and tilts his chin up in a challenge. “I don’t know, Sherlock. I think I need a bit more evidence.” Sherlock’s face creeps up red with heat and his smirks at John.

What the hell is going on here?

Sherlock stands up on the dumpster, more carefully this time, and examines his shirt, ruined with the wet of the storm and the filth of the dumpster. Though his back is to Mahoney’s window, I can clearly see Mahoney’s silhouette, and other figure, a woman.

I pull out my binoculars to see more clearly. “Is that the wife? I thought she fled after learning the truth about her husband.”

When I look back to Sherlock for confirmation, I catch him in a bout of intense eye contact with one John Watson as he unbuttons his soiled shirt.

“I don’t know, Lestrade.” John eyes Sherlock with great interest, egging him on. “I think you’ll find people are full of surprises when it comes to love.”

Oh, for God’s sake. I turn back to the window. Does she have a knife?

I hear Sherlock hop down to the pavement.

“Love?”

“Of course, you great berk.”

“Since when?”

“As long as I can remember. As far back in my life as a care to remember.”

“Oh, John. I’m rather cold.”

“Come ‘ere. It is your coat after all.”

Well, that was the moment, I suppose. Quite odd, but it’s fitting. I can’t help but wonder how things would have played out differently if either of them had the self-esteem to see what was right in front of them and—oh, the wife is stabbing Mahoney now.

“Christ! Did you see that?”

I look for confirmation and see that they surely didn’t, too occupied snogging within the cover of the detective’s great billowing coat. Sherlock breaks away from John.

“Stanley, do you mind?”

“What?”

“The suspect? Mahoney’s murderer? He’s getting away”

“Right, you coming?”

John pulls Sherlock back into their coat.

“I think not.”

I nod at them approvingly. They deserve this moment, however strange it may be.

“I best be off. Thanks for convincing me back here. Turns out this stakeout was worth it after all.”

“It really was.”

I took a moment and stood there, filled with pride and happiness at my friend’s maturation. If I were to accomplish nothing else in my career, giving Sherlock Holmes the opportunity to find his love would be more than enough for me.

And although Mrs. Mahoney got away with murder and I lost my job with accompanying public shame and scrutiny, it was all worth it. The rain stopped, and a rainbow appeared. Very gay, indeed. As it should be.

 


End file.
